


Love is a Reciprocal Torture

by qaffangyrl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Captain America: The First Avenger, M/M, WWII, period typical attitudes about PTSD, post-serum Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qaffangyrl/pseuds/qaffangyrl
Summary: Steve risked settling his palm on Bucky’s waist. For a moment, Steve was in heaven. It didn’t feel sexual, it just felt like home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm reposting a chapter from a longer fic that has gotten away from me. I've deleted Rapprochment until I'm able to repost it as a complete multi-chapter work. This was originally ch 4 but it works as a stand alone so I'm reposting it as is. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudoing and commenting! Love you all!
> 
> P.S. The title is a quote from Proust.

**World War II**

Bucky seemed all right at first. Hell, just minutes after Steve unstrapped him from the table Bucky was able to make his way across a support beam better than any tight rope walker. And now that they were three missions in to taking out Schmidt’s Hydra bases Bucky’s steady hand and flawless abilities as a sniper had earned him the genuine respect of Dum Dum and the others. But at night things were different. 

Steve and Bucky were old hats at sharing close sleeping quarters. They often joked about how their Army issue pup tent afforded them more luxurious accommodations than the hilariously small, third floor walkup they’d shared back in Brooklyn. It was in these quiet moments, that Steve really noticed the change. Bucky had been the sort of guy who’d always consumed life. Women. Drink. Brawls. Bucky seemed to never get enough of those things. But, it wasn’t in the way that junkie chases his high. As far as Steve could tell, Bucky Barnes was the sort of fella who found joy in all things. Whenever he did anything, he did it big. It was almost as if Bucky was living enough life for the two of them. Steve used to revel in the stories Buck would come home to tell as they hunkered down under a threadbare blanket and tried to keep warm during the blistering cold East Coast winters. And back in those days, when Steve wasn’t racked with fluid in his lungs, he’d still ache; sleeping so close to Bucky. Huddled, but not touching in the way that he’d longed for.

Now, as they bunked together somewhere just south of the 51°st parallel Steve didn’t have to think about his own troublesome desire. Not when Bucky’s nightmares took all of the air out of their tent.

“Shh. Buck it’s okay. You’re not with Hydra. You’re with me.” Steve risked flicking on a lighter so Bucky could see him in the darkness. Bucky’s words had been unintelligible, but his anguished tone nearly ripped Steve’s heart out.

Bucky looked up at Steve wild eyed at first. His brow crinkled as he searched Steve’s face for recognition. After a moment Buck replied. “Sorry, pal. Bad dream. Didn’t mean to wake you.” His tone was even.

Steve reckoned it was an effort to make light of what had clearly been a horrifying nightmare based upon how he had thrashed in his sleep so violently that the tent almost became dislodged from its spikes. “Hydra?” Steve asked carefully.

Bucky shifted in his bedroll to face Steve. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Come on Buck, You know they only cleared you for duty because of the intel you have. You’re not eating your rations. And the bad dreams are becoming a regular thing.” Bucky made a dismissive huff in reply so against his better judgement Steve took a different tactic, “You don’t want people saying you’re shell shocked do ‘ya?”

“I ain’t gone looney!” waves of anger rolled off Bucky. “Take it back!”

“Woah,” Steve replied in a whisper, “I didn’t say you had. I’m just worried about you.”

Through gritted teeth Bucky replied, “That’s not your job. I’m the one who’s supposed to do the worrying. It’s always been that way until you had to go and do this.” He waved his hand in an accusatory gesture at Steve’s arms and torso. “You may be bigger than the Coney Island strong man, but you’re not bulletproof, not even with your shield. And how I am supposed to keep-” Bucky stopped short and bit back his words.

“How are you supposed to keep, what?” When Bucky didn’t answer Steve continued, “please.”

“I promised your mother.”

“My mom?”

“That day at the hospital, when the doctors were telling you all they could do is try and make her comfortable. I sat with her, and she made me promise that I would keep you alive. Keep you safe. To make sure she didn’t leave you all alone. Get you a girl, the nice marrying kind. And how am I supposed to do all that when you keep knocking on Hydra’s front door? Tell me Steve? How’m I supposed to do that?”

***

Bucky got shot. It was just a flesh wound, the bullet barely grazed his left shoulder. He and the fellas laughed off their injuries as overworked medics dressed their wounds. Each of the Commandos tried to outdo each other with who’d had the closest call. Dum Dum remarked that while they all looked like they’d been put through a sausage grinder “Ole Steve-O still hasn’t popped his battlefield cherry.”

Bucky joined in the ribbing, “Not even when he spent all those days punching Adolf in the jaw!”

Yes. Bucky was smiling and laughing but the manic air of it terrified Steve. Though, considering the hell they’d all just been through Steve did his best to keep the situation light. His men were over due some R & R. “Well I guess the rule stands. Last one to take a slug buys the beers!”

Later that night Steve slung Bucky’s arm over his shoulder and walked them to his officer’s quarters at basecamp. It was against regulation but, Steve Rogers had a track record of doing things his own way. They tumbled onto the cot, fully clothed. Best to keep appearances should an overeager Corporal come looking for Steve before reveille. Bucky nuzzled his way under Steve’s arm and rested his head on his chest. Steve risked settling his palm on Bucky’s waist. For a moment, Steve was in heaven. It didn’t feel sexual, it just felt like home.

“Steve?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“You don’t get sick now anymore, do you?”

“No sniffles so far.”

Bucky waited a beat before continuing, “You’re gonna make it through this. You’re gonna have long life. I know that now. Best bullet dodger I know.”

Steve let out a brief snort of a laugh. “Well, my shield has seen better days.”

“You’ll see better days too, Steve,” Bucky’s speech was drunkenly slurred and sleepy. “Gotta get you a girl. Do that for me. One like that Agent Carter. She’s a good girl. And knows her way around a pistol. She’ll have your back if they ever come for you and that serum in your blood.”

Steve swallowed hard and with a force smile he replied, “What? You retiring or something?”

Bucky looked up at Steve. “Never pal.”

“Then what’s with all this talk?” Steve brushed Bucky’s hair out of his eyes. Damn the telling intimacy of the act.

“I’m going to be right here, right by your side. Until my last breath. I swear it.” The raw honesty of Bucky’s words surrounded both men. They looked at each other for what seemed like forever.

Finally, when Steve couldn’t take the silence anymore he said, “Then I got all I need, Buck. Now don’t waste that whisky drunk, try and get some sleep.”

Lying in Steve Rogers arms, Bucky Barnes didn’t have any bad dreams that night.


End file.
